Orders Are Orders
by Tribble Master
Summary: But that doesn't mean he has to obey. Even though it kills him on the inside, Dean has to disagree, "Not again Dad. Not this time." Wee!Chester Oneshot.


**Extension of my drabble, Defied Order. I am eternally grateful to PlatinumRoseLady for being my beta. Please enjoy!  
**

**Orders Are Orders**

Dean stands as a barrier between John and Sammy. Sammy doesn't seem to care about the newest argument; he ignores them in favor of the motel television. John looked from his 10 year old to his seven year old. "We have to…"

"No, _Sir_!" Dean spits. "You can't use him as bait."

John shifts tactics, using a command. Something Dean can't fight. "Dean, he will be bait. Don't fight me. That's an order."

It kills Dean a little, but he continues to yell, "We can't keep telling child services he broke something in an skateboarding accident when he doesn't have a skateboard!"

"Dean. Child services isn't the problem. This ghost is."

It is a lie and they both know it. It isn't the ghost, it's the way he operates that makes Dean want to defy orders. The damn ghost is a clown. A psychotic clown that loves to strangle kids with balloons, juggle knives, and create scars instead of face paint. It finds kids, and invites them to his sick Circus. They need bait, because the circus tent is always moving, and John needs to be lead there. Dean doesn't want that for Sam. Sam loves clowns, and Dean doesn't want to ruin that.

"No dad," the oldest added softly, "I won't let you. Not again. Not this time."

In Minnesota, it was a bogeyman.

In Wisconsin, it was another excuse.

Dean didn't save his brother to throw him back into the fire.

When Sammy hears his brother using that tone of voice, he looked up waiting for dad's reply. Dean never pleads, usually just snaps at attention and does as he's told. This was important.

Dean and John open their mouth at the same time. Dean doesn't want to risk being beaten, speaks quickly, feeling guilty about the whole thing, but still wanting to protect Sammy. "I could be bait."

"No." John says. "I need you as backup."

"Exactly," Dean glares, "I'll be right in there. And Sam will be here. Safe."

The silence is deafening. But John begrudgingly accepts.

Sammy is dropped off at Bobby's house. Bobby rolls his eyes. Asks if they need a spare hand. Both Winchester's glare. This is the family business, just watch the kid.

o-o-o-o-o

A day later, Dean is wearing short sleeves and walking through the park. He exudes boredom and coolness. _I'm looking for some fun,_ his body language suggests, _pick me to take. _But is the exact opposite of what he feels. He is tense, ready for action, ready to find whatever keeps the ghost attached to the earth and burn it. A haunted wig. A tormented rubber shoe. A satanic squeaky nose.

He doesn't care; he just wants this hunt over with.

Then he feels an arm on his shoulder, and it starts.

John sees the middle age man approach his son. John checks him out; making sure it's a ghost and not a pedophile.

Red trousers with suspenders. Check.

Stupid shoes. Check.

Polka dot silk shirt. Check.

Synthetic curly hair. Check.

And Dean's is following the Clown, John's orders, so it must be the ghost. Momentarily, he's relived to see Dean's right. Sammy wouldn't have been able to handle this. Not that he'll admit it later, though. John follows them through the park, following their trail. He can hear bits of the conversation now.

"What kind of Circus?" Dean asks curiously, knowing the answer.

"The best kind," the Clown smiles, excited to have a new friend, "do you like balloon animals?"

o-o-o-o-o

John loses the trail and can't be more than five minutes late. Too many minutes late. His son is being mauled by a balloon animal. The inflatable tiger, made of twists and turns has grown to life size. As Dean falls back with claw marks on his chest, he wonders how the claws got so sharp.

The Clown is laughing. He's making assorted pies float around the room. Some smacking into Dean.

From the shadows, John watches suddenly terrified, but calm comes over him. He is just going to burn this fucking place down and pray to whoever is up there that this ends now. But he can't give himself away until the tent is blazing, and he knows it will be close.

Hating to leave, but knowing that staying will be worse, he darts away.

Dean's struggling to stand up and avoid another blow. If he had something sharp he could pop the tiger. The tent is shaking now. Acutely, he notices a rise in temperature. The clown is close, pulling him up by the hair. "Isn't this the best circus ever? I'm building up more acts too… can you be the Strong Man?"

A dumbbell from the corner ghosts over and lands on Dean. It knocks out his breath and pins him to the ground. "Apparently not," the Clown says sadly, "you'll just have to go then like the others."

Just when Dean is sure that Dad screwed up somewhere, or that maybe he's being forced to stay here longer for fighting back, he sees the flames. They're small, but their growth fans the spark of hope.

The Clown notices too, because suddenly he floats over to one object, out of all the other haphazard items, and protects.

"Can't lose you…" he murmurs.

It's a little car, meant for riding around the ring. Dean can't help but agree. Gotta save the car. But if that's what's keeping the ghost here, then it goes. He scrambles over to the car, diverting the ghost's attention as he throws salt on it. The Clown attacks harder as the small leather seats catch fire, and the burning car sends him into oblivion.

Dean's left sitting there, with a deflating balloon that's growling.

Realization kicks into his brain then- I'm trapped and this place is burning down.

I'm trapped and I'm bleeding, and I deserve this for even thinking about fighting with Dad.

At least it's not Sammy, he thinks before blacking out.

o-o-o-o-o-o

When he wakes he's in the motel. Smoke inhalation. Couple of deep scratches. Large bruises. Every inch of him sore.

No need for the hospital where Child Services can raise a questioning eyebrow.

Dad was at his side in a second, "Dean, how are you? No macho shit, that's an order."

Dean swallows. "Hurts to breath a little. Chest hurts. How bad is it?"

"You were out cold last night. I sewed up just fine," Dad smiles proudly, "You did good. Hey, somebody wants to see you…"

After Dean puts his best game face on, he nods. John opens the door. Sammy comes in and runs up to his brother. Dean props himself up on his elbows, even though his every movement hurts. Tiny arms hug him. "Dean!"

"Hey, Sammy," he smiles, "did you have fun with Uncle Bobby?"

"Yeah! I got a skateboard. But I missed you Dean."

"Really? Hey, Sammy…"

"Yeah Dean?" Sammy looks up at him. Completely trusting, willing to do whatever Dean asks next.

"Don't trust clowns."

John smiles at the two, as Dean makes light of his injuries, and Sam doesn't even notice Dean is hurt.

And he wishes again, that there was an easier way of raising his sons.

**The End**


End file.
